


Always

by LeftEy3Nicole



Category: Toy Story (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 12:51:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6658582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeftEy3Nicole/pseuds/LeftEy3Nicole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Woody and the gang have been with Bonnie for six months now, and while Woody is having trouble adjusting to his new 'kid', he's happy to at least be with his friends. But when Mrs. Anderson finds out just how much Woody is worth, the unthinkable happens. Woody finds himself separated again, and this time... </p><p>He's not so sure he'll ever be able to get back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always

Woody woke up with a bad feeling brewing in the pit of his cotton-filled stomach.

That wasn’t anything new.

He wanted to exhale in frustration, but didn’t. Instead he lay there, still and inanimate, nestled under Bonnie’s warm comforter, irritated that for the second week in a row he’d woken up like this, feeling this way.

He’d been able to hide it the first week easily enough. Bonnie’s room was bigger than Andy’s, making it easier to avoid his friends, the only positive comparison Woody could make. Wow, he sounded so ungrateful.

This week though…his friends were starting to catch on. Especially Buzz and Slinky, who were going out of their way to find things to do with him, keep him company. Even Potato-head had offered.

Woody did sigh this time, but it was only a little one. He was running out of excuses for them. How could he give Buzz an answer when he didn’t have on himself? He felt tired, more tired than he had in ages.

Honestly, Woody wondered if he was starting to feel his age.

He wasn’t able to think about it long though. Bonnie was waking up, the five-year-old’s sleepy grumbles likely rousing everyone else in the room if they weren’t already awake. Woody could practically feel Rex’s excitement from the toy chest—Bonnie the greatest thing in the world to him. Woody should feel excited, too. The past six months had been awesome for them, Sunnyside nothing more than a bad dream.

But he wasn’t excited. Even when Bonnie became more coherent and started telling everyone good morning despite the lack of response, he didn’t feel it.

“Goodmorning, toys!” Bonnie yelled, voice unnaturally energetic for so early in the morning.

Her sweet voice made Woody feel guilty. He could be stuffed in some box somewhere, forgotten and alone, isolated from his friends. And if not that, then he could’ve been incinerated back at the dump, or torn apart. Instead, he was lying in a warm bed, loved and wanted by an incredible kid, basically a second chance at doing what he loved most, _being_ someone’s hero once again. How many toys got as many second chances as he had? Most toys were lucky to have _one_ owner over a decade let alone all of the decades Woody had been around.

_Decades…_

Woody should be grateful. He couldn’t even remember his earliest decades.

“Mmm, Momma’s makin’ pancakes!” Bonnie suddenly yelled in the midst of petting Buttercup’s mane. She sniffed the air and smiled, left hand wiping the sleep from her eyes while the right grabbed Mr. Pricklepants and squeezed him to her chest. The plush toy was her favorite sleeping partner, though Woody was quickly becoming a close second. She hugged him next, Woody’s hat moving up against the girl’s chin.

He would admit, when Bonnie hugged him, it always made him a feel a little better.

“Bonnie, are you up sweety?” Mrs. Anderson asked, head popping inside the room, the syrupy pancake smell growing stronger.

Bonnie gripped Woody tightly in her hand and turned to smile at her mom. “Mm-hmm!” she answered, and without letting Woody go, ran to embrace her. “Are the Peterson’s comin’ today?” she furthered, small body slipping through the door.

“Yes, the Peterson’s are coming today, so be on your best behavior and I'll get you and Jacob ice-cream,” she answered and began to help Bonnie get dressed.

“I thought we we’re gonna go to the zoo?” Bonnie asked, lip forming a pout. She placed Woody on the dresser, his head falling to the side just enough to make out Buzz and Jessie, who’d been placed on the desk across the room the night before.

“No, not today hun. There’s a storm headed in later this afternoon, but we can go tomorrow or next weekend.”

Bonnie pouted some more, feet dragging the floor as she went to grab her tutu from the closet. Woody inwardly groaned, still thinking about Mrs. Anderson’s first statement. If Mrs. Peterson was coming, that meant Jacob Peterson, her five-year-old son, would be too. Woody had completely forgotten about it. Jacob was a nice enough kid, full of energy, and Bonnie liked him. But he had quite the passion for all things western.

Especially cowboys.

A passion that sometimes hurt.

“Well come on, then. Pancakes will get cold,” Mrs. Anderson said, gently leading her daughter out into the hallway, closing the door behind them.

“Woody, you okay?” Buzz asked five seconds after the door had closed, plastic body jumping off the desk to the floor. Jessie followed, and the rest of the toys in the room began to come out from their places. Woody noted how all of ‘Andy’s’ toys had their eyes on him. All of them had an extra shade of worry in their eyes.

“Yeah, Buzz. I’m fine.” Woody replied as he too got down on the floor. His voice was short. Curt even, which garnered made Dolly, Buttercup, and Mr. Pricklepants stare at him.

Buzz shot him a skeptical look and was just about to reply when Motley scratching at the door drew the room’s attention. The sound of whining filtered from the other side, making almost everyone cringe, even Woody.

But Woody wasn’t the only one wary of the dog.

“He can’t…get in here, right?” Rex asked from the floor, big feet already carrying him backward to the toy chest. His voice was timid and scared, and with good reason. Just yesterday Motley had managed to get Rex by the tail when they’d all been out in the backyard playing under the Anderson’s big Magnolia tree. Bonnie had been so afraid, even if she liked Motley. But fortunately Bonnie’s mom had been there and taken the dog inside by the collar, the only lasting damage a couple of small teeth marks.

Rex though…he was still scared, even if the damage wasn’t easily seen. A toy could still _feel_ pain. Woody was no stranger to dog bites. All Motley did was make everyone miss Buster.

“No, he shouldn’t be able to. That door’s pretty strong,” Dolly answered, though the way she eyed it spoke to how much confidence she had in her words.

Rex gulped. “I hope so.”

“Woody…” Buzz started, obviously unwilling to be distracted by the elephant outside the bedroom wanting to get in and chew them all to bits.

“I said I’m fine, Buzz!” Woody snapped, irritated but also already guilty at his reaction. Buzz was his best friend in the world, after all.

“That’s what you said yesterday, Woody. We ain’t buyin’ it,” Jessie added and went to stand by Buzz, her polyester arms folded across her chest.

“And I’ll say it again tomorrow when you ask,” Woody bit out, turning his back on them, already waiting for the day to be done. His own morose thoughts surprised him. When had he become so…bitter?

But he _was_ fine. There wasn’t any reason why he wouldn’t or shouldn’t be. He and his friends were alive and well, and the most amazing child on the planet was their new owner. Of course he was fine. He hated that Buzz thought he wasn’t. He didn’t want Buzz to worry about him. He didn’t want anyone to worry about him, for that matter.

“Look, maybe you should hide from Bonnie today. We all know how rough Jacob likes to play—” Buzz started, already garnering a few nods across the room.

“No, Buzz,” Woody cut him off, abhorred at the idea of hiding himself from children. “I’m not hiding from anyone. I’m a toy. What else am I here for if not so Jacob Peterson can play with me?” he added, injecting a healthy dose of sarcasm into his words.

But seriously. He was fine, and above all grateful to be here. He could handle Jacob Peterson, and he could handle Motley, and anyone or anything else that wanted to come at him. He was a toy, and this was his job. This weekend would be like any other weekend in the Anderson home. Bonnie’s first goal on a Saturday like today would be playing with her toys. There was no past time she loved more. She never grew tired of it, and neither did he, and if that meant some playtimes were harder than others, so be it.

“Woody, I’m just saying…” Buzz’s voice trailed off.

Woody looked up at him, waiting for him to continue. He guessed there was something in his stare that made Buzz hesitant to do that, which was annoying. For the past six months, it seemed like all his friends were walking on egg shells around him. Like he'd _break_ at any moment because Andy wasn't here.

“He’s just saying that you’re not a spring chicken, Woodster. Bonnie would be more upset if Jacob ripped your arm off over her not being able to find you for a day,” Hamm finished, albeit in a much harsher voice than Buzz would’ve used. "You're practically an antique, after all."

"Hey! I'm just as old!" Jessie piped up, looking offended.

Woody shook his head. Of all the things to fight about, who was _older_ wasn't one of them.

"Yeah, but Woody's been played with a lot more than you," Potatohead argued. "You said yourself you were in storage for awhile..."

Woody let out a frustrated groan, took his hat off, and rubbed his plastic forehead. Everyone looked at him. “Not that I'm not enjoying the age deabte?” he started flatly, “but it's beside the point. I’m not skipping out on Bonnie today. She doesn't deserve that, and besides, she won't let Jacob Peterson rip off my arm, so all this fuss is kinda pointless.”

Off to the side, potatohead rolled his eyes and muttered something to the pizza planet aliens. Woody couldn't sworn he heard the words, _'over the hill'_ but he didn’t care. He wouldn’t be persuaded out of his decision.

"Alright, Woody. Alright," Buzz conceded, took Jessie's hand, and led her over toward the closet, both of them muttering in hushed voices, probably arguing.

Woody didn't follow them. Instead, he jumped up on the chair to get to the desk so he could sit on the windowsill, his thoughts keeping him company.

His friend's didn’t understand how playtime kept him alive, even if he was tired. It kept him going, ensured his spirit kept on burning, and in more ways than just metaphorically. As one of the oldest toys in Bonnie's room, Woody knew how important it was that one his age be played with, or at least acknowledged. The younger toys didn’t know it, and they didn’t have to worry about it for a long time, but getting older made it harder to...

Well, it just made life harder.

Children, in the literal sense, fueled the _magic,_ if that’s what it was that made all this possible. At least, Woody remembered being told that. Maybe it wasn’t true. He honestly couldn't even remember who'd told him. Maybe it hadn't even been said.

After a rushed breakfast, Bonnie wasted no time in setting up a fort in the bedroom, playtime on the horizon. Cowboy’s and Aliens was today’s game of choice. It was one of Woody’s personal favorites. Andy had once played a similar game, and he’d never grow tired of the way Bonnie reminded him of Andy when she’d shown them her own version.

But still, even with Bonnie’s small, gentle, animated hands guiding Woody and his friend’s along through an epic battle between one of the alien spaceships and the designated allied indians, he couldn’t quell the bad feeling. It wouldn’t leave.

About an hour later Bonnie’s mom came in to help her get ready for the Petersons. Then it was grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch. Afterward, Mrs. Anderson took them outside in the front yard to the same exact spot Andy had played with them on that last day six months ago. It was a location that Woody loved, but this time, it didn’t have the same feel. This time, he’d wished more than anything that Bonnie’s mom, who was sitting on the porch talking on her cell phone, would ask her to come back inside.

Maybe it was the darkening clouds in the sky, the distant smell of thunder and rain, or the low rumbling in the air that had Woody feeling on edge.

 _Something bad is gonna happen,_ he thought to himself while Bonnie paraded him through the grass on top of Bullseye, Buzz in her other hand, mock-shooting his laser beam at Rex, the designated alien monster swooping down on them. “Take that! And that!” Bonnie yelled for Buzz before she moved back to Woody, words intended for him already falling from her lips.

All in all, it was like every other fun-filled playtime with their new ‘kid’. Only, Woody wasn’t having very much fun. In fact, strangely enough, he felt tired and dazed, a part of him regretting not taking Buzz up on his advice to hide away for the day. Maybe that’s what he should’ve done.

When Jacob Peterson finally arrived with his mom, Woody was barely aware of playing with Bonnie in the front yard. He could barely hear the two of them fighting just twenty minutes into the game about which toys they’d both play with.

“No you _always_ get to play with the cowboy, and this time it’s my turn!” Jacob’s voice, distant and far away.

“That’s because Woody is _my_ cowboy!” Bonnie retorted, pointing to the smaller version of a cowboy figure on the grass. “That’s yours,” she declared and began muttering something else, only Woody found it hard to understand her.

He felt like he was in a dream, struggling to wake up. Every so often, he’d see Buzz’s eyes looking at him when the children were focused on another toy. He was worried, that much was clear. Woody wished he wouldn’t stare so much. What if he were caught? Stupid. Buzz was being really stupid.

“Hey it’s my turn to be the cowboy!” Jacob complained in such a loud voice, it yanked Woody from the daze he’d fallen into. He then threw his own cowboy figure (not a doll like Woody, and definitely not as tall or big) on the ground in favor of grabbing Woody out of Bonnie’s hands. His friends might be inanimate, but Woody knew they were watching with bated breath. Jacob usually got what he wanted, and it wasn’t the most pain-free process. His own cowboy’s missing boots and right foot was a testament to that.

“No, Woody is mine!” Bonnie yelled, small arms instantly thrusting Woody in the air, out of Jacob’s reach. Woody’s legs flapped and bounced in the little girl’s hands, Jacob’s own fingers inches from him. Eventually, the small boy won out. When Jacob took control of Woody despite Bonnie’s protests and proceeded to hurl him across the yard and into the bushes on accident he actually felt relief. At least in here, Buzz couldn’t see him.

And…at least he was getting a break.

******************************************************************

“Bonnie, it’s time to start wrapping things up!” Robyn Anderson shouted from the front porch, her daughter having just retrieved the cowboy doll that Andy Davis had given to her from the bushes, the place where Amanda’s son had just thrown him on accident.

“Aw, but mom! The rain’s not here yet!” Bonnie argued as she hugged Woody close. Little Jacob came bounding up beside her, some of his own toys in his hands. He was frowning and pouting about something.

Robyn gave her daughter a stern look. “But the lightning is already starting, so come on, let’s pack it up,” she answered in a tone that meant no arguments. Bonnie pouted, but ultimately obeyed. Robyn sighed but smiled and turned back to Amanda. “I swear, their energy never runs out,” she laughed.

Amanda laughed as well and called out to her son to start packing his own toys up. She then turned to Robyn. “Take it from me, it doesn't stop. I've got a thirteen year-old. They only get more energy.” She smiled, both women watching as the two children ran up the steps and toward the house, toys spilling from their arms. Bonnie was almost to the door when her Woody doll fell from her arms and bounced across the wooden porch, hat falling off, face sliding across the boards.

“Oh no!” Bonnie yelled, exaggerating the dramatics of the situation. The doll would be fine. “Don’t worry, Woody. We won’t leave you out in the storm!” she added, turning back around while Jacob ran through the door.

“I’ll get him, sweety. Just go on inside and put your toys away so we can see about that ice-cream before the weather gets too bad,” Robyn encouraged, already walking over to her daughter who was bent over and trying to pick her Woody doll back up while all of her other toys kept falling out of her arms.

Bonnie looked up, giving Robyn a hesitating stare before she nodded, re-gathered the two toys she’d dropped trying to pick Woody up, and walked inside. Robyn laughed to herself and walked over to pick the cowboy doll up, still confused by what Bonnie saw in this thing. It was old, the colors of his clothing were somewhat faded, and technically, it was a boy’s toy.

Though, the Buzz Lightyear doll was a boy's toy, too. And really, Robyn shouldn't force her daughter to play with certain toys based on gender.

“Hey is that a…” Amanda started as she came up beside Robyn, eyes intently focused on Bonnie’s cowboy doll. They widened with recognition. “Yes it is! How did you find one of these? My husband would go crazy over this thing!” she exclaimed and took the doll out of Robyn’s hands. She turned him over, mouth gaping, fingers tracing the outline of the doll’s face while Robyn bent down to pick up the doll's hat. "This is so neat!"

Robyn grew even more confused at her friend's growing enthusiasm. “Am I missing something?”

“This is a Woody doll!" Amanda pointed out as if the name alone was a goldmine.

"...And..." Robyn stalled, wondering what all the excitement was about.

"Oh my God, Robyn, do you know how much you could get for one of these dolls?” Amanda asked and held the Woody doll up, as if that alone should explain everything.

Robyn shook her head. “Um, I’m confused. It’s just an old doll that Mrs. Davis’s son gave to—”

“No, this isn’t _just_ a doll. This is a Sheriff Woody Doll,” Amanda interrupted in a matter of fact voice as if the toy she was holding was God’s gift to the world. “This thing is probably older than you and me, and even in this condition, he’d be worth _a lot_ of money. Like, you could take Bonnie on that vacation you were talking about a couple of weeks ago by selling him. Or even pay off those legal fees from your divorce!”

Robyn laughed almost haughtily and grabbed the doll back. She turned toward the house, uncomfortable with Bonnie and Jacob being inside by themselves for too long. That and she'd rather not discuss her divorce. “Yeah right."

“No, I’m dead serious,” Amanda argued, stopping Robyn at the door. “This doll is based on that old kid’s show from the 50’s. _‘Woody’s Round-Up’_! Do you remember that show? I know it was before us, but still, you have to remember it.”

Robyn paused in thought. The show sounded pretty familiar. “I…think so? But I honestly couldn’t tell you.”

“Well, like any show, there was a lot of merchandise made, but unlike the other toys from the show, there were only like 500 Woody dolls made before it got cancelled because they got started on them so late. But it means that he’s even more valuable because the doll’s original designer died just a couple of years ago. You could make a fortune on him!” Amanda explained, her eyes going down to the Woody doll. They looked almost envious.

“I’m not selling him, Amanda. This is Bonnie’s doll. She’d be really upset,” Robyn tried to reason, her voice lowered so Bonnie wouldn’t overhear. She could only imagine the tears that’d be shed. Bonnie had been so excited when the Davis boy gave Woody to her.

Amanda waved her hand, dismissing Robyn’s concern. “She’s four, Robyn. Sure, she’ll be upset, but not for long. She has a lot of toys. She’ll get over it.” Amanda paused, smiling. “Hell, with the money for this doll, you could buy her a whole room full of new toys if you wanted to. This toy would be forgotten quicker than shit.”

Robyn shook her head, unwilling to be bent. Bonnie wasn’t like most kids. She wouldn’t forget her cowboy doll so easily, and given that it’d only been a year since the divorce…

Well, Robyn didn’t want to upset Bonnie. Losing her father had been hard, and in many ways her daughter was still trying to deal with it just like she was.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Amanda stared at Robyn, then the doll, and then back at her. “Okay, it’s your property at the end of the day, but do yourself a favor and just go _see_ how much these dolls are going for on Amazon or Ebay. You could even take it to be appraised. In fact, that's probably a better idea. I’m bettin’ you’ll change your mind once you see. I know you’ve run into financial issues lately, and this could help.”

Robyn closed her eyes. “Amanda, I really don’t—”

“ _Just_ give it a look. That’s all I’m sayin’,” Amanda cut her off, hands coming up in mock surrender. She then laughed and headed through the front door. “Come on, let’s go see what our kids are up to before they burn the house down or something.”

Robyn nodded and glanced down at the cowboy doll grasped firmly in her hand. Amanda had already gone inside, but Robyn still stood there, wondering. Almost tenderly, she wiped the dirt off the doll’s clothing and put the hat back on his head, straightening it out. She sighed and stared into the doll’s big brown eyes, a little unnerved at how the thing seemed to be staring right into her soul, as if he was alive or something.

Was this doll really worth a lot of money? Could it really be that simple?

As much as she loved her daughter, and valued her daughter’s passions and loves, she had to admit…

She _was_ just a little bit curious to find out how much Bonnie’s doll was worth, if there was any truth to her friend’s claims at all. Amanda hadn’t been wrong, Robyn did have a lot of bills that needed to be paid, and Jesus, Bonnie could use a nice vacation. Was one old hand-me-down cowboy doll worth those things?

After giving Bonnie the Woody doll back, Robyn made it a point to research the doll tonight. She told herself she wouldn’t sell him, or do anything drastic, but it was at least worth the look.

And what was the harm in looking?


End file.
